


Null And Void

by TheSchubita



Series: Death On Two Legs [6]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Surprise guest - Freeform, guest appearance, slight crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-04 14:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: As if he hasn't been feeling poorly enough, this new development is giving Freddie a major case of whiplash, but he'll take it - because he might be finally going home.





	Null And Void

**Author's Note:**

> You have made it till the end! Congration you done it! I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations - you've all been so lovely! ♥
> 
> ~
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> First off, I'd like to thank @riceinthechurch on tumblr, who has been a MAJOR help in this, and has read every part dutifully, and helped name the series, as well as most parts. Please go read their fic "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure" - they're aliquis on AO3.
> 
> This was a tiny hc I originally posted on @bohemian-rhapsody-slash (KyluxFicHell on here, seriously, check out their fics too) on tumblr anonymously, and it grew legs and, well, here we are.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

“Oh, Freddie,” Paul sighs, coming to sit next to him from where he’s lying on the couch. Freddie knows Paul means well, but he’s been feeling horribly under the weather, a very persistent cough that refuses to go away. Freddie has been craving some peace and quiet, and though Paul had eventually agreed some ‘good company’ was not what Freddie needed, he himself had been following Freddie around the house like a second shadow. He feels Paul’s fingers card gently through his short hair, and though comforting, he childishly keeps thinking that he wants another set of hands card through his hair.

 

That wasn’t going to happen in the near future, though. In the silence of his house here in Munich, surrounded by pretty things and a whole lot of _nothing_ , he can admit to himself that he might’ve fucked up. Big time.

 

‘ _I never should have left them_ ,’ he thinks to himself. Freddie doesn’t know why, but lately, the thought that he’ll never see the others again has been sneaking up on him more and more. Each time, he pushes it away ruthlessly, and each time, it comes back even stronger.

 

“Freddie, love? Aren’t you feeling any better?” Paul asks sweetly, voice full of worry. Freddie shrugs. “I need words from you, Freddie,” Paul sing-songs; it’s one of his many little ‘rules’. Freddie just barely suppresses another sigh.

 

“No,” he croaks. “This cold’s really riding my ass.” Paul giggles at the wording, before he grows somber.

 

“It’s not just the cold that has you feeling like shit, though, isn’t it?” His voice is softer now; Freddie rarely hears that tone from him.

 

“No,” he says again.

 

“They don’t deserve you,” Paul says, still soft, but with an edge in his voice.

 

‘ _Maybe_ I _don’t deserve_ them _’_ , Freddie thinks. Out loud, he says; “That’s not up to you to decide.” Paul immediately balks.

 

“Of course, Freddie,” he agrees. “I’m sorry if I stepped out of line. It’s just – I hate to see you like this. I don’t like my Freddie unhappy,” he whispers, sounding heartbroken. Despite himself, an unpleasant shiver goes down Freddie’s spine at the words.

 

“It’s done,” he echoes the words he said months ago, though it feels like a lifetime, really. Freddie feels like a different person since then, since _them_. A lesser person.

 

“You could always go to visit them,” Paul suggest hesitantly. “As long as they don’t – hurt you, I see no harm in it.”

 

“I can’t,” Freddie says quietly, surprising himself with the burning he feels behind his eyes.

 

“Why not?” Paul asks. Freddie bristles slightly; it’s not as if Paul didn’t know, but Freddie doesn’t have the energy to snap back at him, now.

 

“They won’t take me back. I know I wouldn’t.” That’s a lie, he knows, but lately, he doubts if the others felt the same – _intensity_ – about him, as he about them.

 

“They might,” Paul offers, but he sounds doubtful. Freddie snorts.

 

“When hell freezes over, maybe,” he retorts. “Unless you can make them love me again, I don’t see it happening,” he says sarcastically. Paul completely stills his ministrations.

 

“What if I could?” he says, voice thin like a razor. When Freddie looks up at him, Paul’s face is completely blank, but his eyes –

 

His eyes are shining with something Freddie would describe as _rapturous_.

 

“What?” Freddie frowns. Paul leans closer over him. _Looming_.

 

“Make them love you again. What if I could?”

 

“You can’t,” Freddie retorts slowly. “You can’t _make_ people love each other. That’s not love.” Paul smiles, a slow, indulgent smile. It makes Freddie feel cold and exposed.

 

“Just say I could,” Paul giggles. “What would it be worth to you?”

 

 _Everything_.

 

But that’s just a nice fantasy. Freddie opens his mouth to tell Paul so, when it suddenly knocks on the front door. Both look to the door startled, and Freddie wonders who it could be in this downpour.

 

“I thought you said no one was coming?” Freddie asks Paul, who nods.

 

“I told everyone to fuck off,” Paul frowns. “Just ignore it, they’ll get the message.” He turns to Freddie. “Now, I was saying –“

 

There’s a knock again, and this time, Paul huffs, eyes flashing, before he gets up, gets out of Freddie’s space and goes to throw the door open, clearly hellbent on telling whoever came unannounced to _piss off._ However, what happens is that Paul stumbles back, clearly startled, eyes blinking at – _John?_

 

"John?" Freddie whispers, can barely believe it, scrambling up. John nods in his direction, but doesn’t take his eyes off Paul, and for the first time that Freddie has seen, John looks threatening. In fact, he looks positively _burning_ with fury.

 

"Hullo, Fred," John replies. "I’ll give you a proper hug and a smack in a moment – I have to talk to _Paul_ first, though."

 

"Do you?" Paul asks, nonchalant attitude back in place. John’s eyes flash dangerously.

 

"Oh, absolutely. You know," John starts, twiddling with a necklace Freddie has never seen before. For some reason, Paul’s eyes are glued to it, and he seems _nervous._ "I can’t believe I’ve never seen it – I do feel a bit stupid now." John says, tone conversational while his eyes are anything but. "But it makes perfect sense, come to think of it."

 

"I have no idea what you mean," Paul replies.

 

"Oh, I’m sure you don’t, you demonic piece of –"

 

"John!" Freddie says, partly reprimanding, mostly stunned. "Did you come here all the way just to pick a fight?"

 

"Yes," John says immediately, stunning Freddie even further. "But not with you. With _him_ ," he says, pointing viciously at Paul, who has gone deathly pale.

 

"You know – how?" John looks positively murderous.

 

"Roger was acting really, _really_ off saying his goodbyes and whatnot – I added two and two together." That makes Freddie pause. Why would Roger be saying his goodbyes – unless –

 

"Is – is Roger alright?" He asks hesitatingly, afraid of what the answer is. For the first time since he got here, John looks anything other than furious. He looks defeated when he looks at Freddie. Freddie then notices the red, puffy eyes, and the slight downturn of his lips, wobbling slightly.

 

 _No_. Freddie feels a pit in his stomach. "What –" he swallows, unable to speak.

 

"He did something really stupid and unnecessary years ago, and its catching up to him," John looks rigid, but he turns to Paul again with a pointed look. Paul quickly hides his delighted expression, but not fast enough. 

 

"Well, well,” Paul says. “What a surprising turn of events. I didn’t think dear sweet Roger would blab, but then again, he has always been weak,” he is all sharp-toothed smile, and Freddie feels a surge of anger. Roger was many things, but he wasn’t _weak_. “Are you here to make a deal then? I’m all ears. You know, you’re probably even more replaceable,” Freddie shoots up, but John subtly shakes his head in his direction. “After all, no one even _notices_ you." Freddie feels rage at the words but John seems completely unfazed.

 

"You know, I probably would have, all things considered." John says thoughtfully. "If the first deal was valid, that is."

 

"What?" Paul looks completely wrong-footed. “What are you talking about?” That’s something Freddie would love to know as well.

 

"You see," John says, and now he looks like the cat who got the canary. "I made some – inquiries with some – _people_. The first deal is completely invalid – after all, you had nothing to do with Brian’s recovery – it was supposed to happen in the first place." Pauls’ face contorts until it’s something completely ugly, completely _horrifying_. Freddie stumbles back from it. Neither John nor Paul spare him a glance, staring each other down.

 

"You don’t know _anything_ ," Paul yowls, surging forwards, his hands – _claws? –_ reaching for John, and Freddie wants to intervene, protect John from whatever the _fuck_ is going on, but then Paul recoils as if burnt, dripping with water. John looks nonplussed, an open bottle of water in his hand all of a sudden.

 

"You see, I _do_ happen know a little something – like how _you lot_ really don’t like Holy Water with salt in it, for instance." _The fuck?_ Freddie blinks.

 

"The _fuck_ ," Paul wails, retreating further from John. Freddie feels as if he missed something _big_.

 

"I could say the same," John says, all warmth gone from his face, his voice. Freddie has never seen John like this, cold and vicious and _dangerous_. "How long have you been working on us – were we your little pet project? You already had Roger, but you couldn’t even have granted him the full deal? And how long have you been working Freddie? How long have you been bearing down on him? What have you told him? That he’s not good enough? That we didn’t love him, same as you told Roger? Who was going to be next? Me? _Brian_? For what, your five minutes of fame downstairs?"

 

The laughter that tears from Paul’s throat is too deep, too guttural to be human. It sends a chill down Freddie’s spine, and he whimpers quietly. He feels fogged, like he hadn’t been sober for years. John shoots him a quick, apologetic glance, before he turns to Paul again.

 

"Who would’ve thought out of all of you, plain little _Deaky_ would be the most challenging out of the lot of you?" Paul wonders, tone saccharine. "I’m curious, how did you figure it out?"

 

“I have connections,” John says. “I’m completely ordinary, and thank fuck for that, but it’s safe to say I’m a bit more in touch with the – ah, other side,” he explains. Not that Freddie has a clue what’s happening, in any case. “I know enough to keep me safe, but to keep out of anything else – which in hindsight, was a mistake. I should’ve paid more attention to my surroundings." And at this, John looks contrite, shoulders sagging.

 

"You really should have – invalid contract or no, Roger’s time is almost up." Paul laughs, eyes bleeding red, suddenly, and that when Freddie begins to understand they’re dealing with some _thing,_ rather than someone. He hunches instinctively, dreading what would happen if Paul fixated on him all of a sudden. His mind is reeling – what the _hell_ was happening with Roger?

 

“Is it, though?” John asks. Paul stops laughing, and fixes John with his red eyes.

 

Freddie wants to _run_. He doesn’t know how John can stand the crawling feeling under his skin he gets from being in Paul’s mere presence.

 

“What do you mean?” Paul snaps. John smiles, not one of those beautiful, soft smiles that made him (and Roger, and Brian) melt, but a cold one that didn’t reach his eyes. Freddie doesn’t know how John can stand to look unflinchingly at the creature in front of them, when Freddie’s sure he’s going to shit his pants at any given moment.

 

“Ask me who,” John says.

 

“What are you talking about, you little _maggot_?”

 

“Ask me who,” John repeats. Paul bares his teeth at him. “Ask me who gave me the details on your back-alley deal. Ask me who has that sort of power.” They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity to Freddie, locked into some battle of willpower. Eventually, it’s Paul who gives in.

 

“Who?” He asks through gritted teeth.

 

John smiles a dangerous little smile. Freddie’s glad he’s not at the receiving end of it.

 

“Crowley,” he says. Paul goes white.

 

“Evening, boys,” a new voice suddenly says from behind Freddie, and he jumps about five feet in the air.

 

Then Freddie springs into action, grabbing an empty beer bottle and smashing it against the table, holding up the broken end in defense in a death grip to stop himself from shaking. “Who the _fuck_ are you? How did you get in my house?” he asks, waving his make-shift weapon at the intruder. The stranger, a stout man with a long dark coat just eyes the bottle with a bored expression.

 

“Cute,” he says in a distinctive Scottish accent, before stepping around Freddie and coming around to stand in front of John and Paul. John seems completely unfazed by the stranger, looks vaguely annoyed even. It makes Freddie feel a bit less on edge, but not enough to put the bottle down.

 

“Hello, John, dear,” the man says.

 

“Crowley,” John nods. The stranger – Crowley – clears his throat pointedly, and John rolls his eyes. “Hello, _uncle_ Crowley,” he says. _Uncle_? Freddie wonders. The man looks too young to be John’s uncle, but –

 

“ _Uncle_?” Paul shrieks. They all turn to face him, and Paul looks terrified, plastered against the wall and face white, contorting in inhuman ways, _wailing._

 

“Hello _Paul_ , darling,” Crowley croons. Paul flattens himself even more against the wall.

 

Freddie is officially out of ideas of what’s going on. The man is short, with the air of some office exec about him – not threatening at all, yet Paul is acting as if he’s facing a pack of hungry and very angry bears about to tear him to pieces.

 

“No, _how_ –“ Paul cries out. “I was hidden! It shouldn’t have been possible –“ then his eyes bulge almost comically and he turns to face John again. “You stinking sack of flesh and bones! I will disembowel your ugly intestines through your nose and strangle you with them! I am going to –“

 

“ _Ahem_.” Paul chokes on his words, his near apoplectic rant cut short by Crowley clearing his throat. He rears back from where he had been advancing on John, who is still entirely too calm. “I think you’re stepping your toes out of line here,” Crowley says. “The only disemboweling in the near future will be yours.” Paul looks like he’s about to cry.

 

“No, Crowley, please,” he begins. “This has all been a big mistake – I was simply trying to get back in your good graces!” Crowley purses his lips.

 

“Were you now? I distinctly remember putting a bounty on your head fifteen years ago – _just_ the head.” He says it as if he’s only talking about the weather. Freddie can feel his gut churn, and as if he knew, John shoots him a soothing look. Surprisingly, it helps, but then again, John always had a calming effect on him – on all of them.

 

“Yes, but see, I thought if I brought you the souls of someone of worth, you’d be amenable to – ah – renegotiation.” Paul sound hopeful, even kind as he says it. Freddie realizes with a sick jolt to his stomach that it’s the same tone he’s always used on _him_.

 

“I don’t _renegotiate_ with cockroaches. And especially when there’s nothing of worth in it.” Paul seems to waver, before he puffs himself up.

 

“I have the soul of Roger Meddows Taylor,” Paul says. Freddie’s eyes go wide, his heart squeezing painfully. What was that supposed to mean?

 

“The contract is invalid,” John speaks up for the first time. His tone is mild, but Freddie can see the fury behind it. “You have _nothing_.” Crowley hums in agreement.

 

“Unfortunately for you, it is,” he says to Paul, who looks less human with every minute, anger and fear ravaging his features. “Also, I would like to remind you that I am quite fond of holding grudges.”

 

“What?” Paul exclaims. “About that thing with the torture –“

 

“Yes,” Crowley interrupts, and his tone isn’t quite as bland anymore. “That thing about the torture, where _I specifically gave you instructions not to! Moron!”_ The yelled words reverberate through the spacious living room, and if Freddie would have to describe the voice that comes out of Crowley’s mouth, he’d pick something along the lines of ‘I just shat in my pants’.

 

Paul however, doesn’t seem to be cowed by it. “We’re demons! That’s what we _do_!” Crowley looks as if something particularly nasty just crawled up his arse.

 

“Not when you are given clear instructions, you don’t,” Crowley replies, tone calm again. “You should’ve held still in the hole you crawled in, dear.”

 

“What’s the issue?” Paul snaps right back. “They’re just worthless humans – and we’ve bent the rules to deals before! Roger even _consented_ to it!” From behind Crowley, Freddie looks at John, and Freddie is stunned at the sheer amount of loathing he finds in his face. He desperately wants to ask, but he feels like a mouse in front of a snake, too terrified to even move.

 

“Be as it may, Johnny here says it’s personal,” Crowley says, before he steps closer to a petrified Paul. “Furthermore, I _really_ don’t appreciate having my good name soiled by some back-alley deal gone wrong.”

 

“But –“ Paul tries, desperate. Freddie can’t find an ounce of compassion within him. He just feels numb.

 

“I had hopes for you, once,” Crowley says, sounding wistful. “I am disappointed to see them misplaced. See you in hell.” He snaps his fingers.

 

“Good riddance,” John mutters darkly. Freddie blinks. Where Paul had stood just seconds ago, Freddie was staring at an empty place. He feels faint.

 

“Thank you for returning one of my lost sheep to me,” Crowley says magnanimously. “I’ll see that order is returned – your friend has nothing to fear for anymore. Just tell him to keep his nose out of my business,” he continues, clearly meaning Roger.

 

“Crowley, what about Freddie?” John asks suddenly. Both Freddie and Crowley turn around with matching frowns of confusion. “I mean, nothing will happen to Brian because he was going to be fine anyway, but –“ John eyes Freddie and bites his lip. Crowley turns around to face him fully, and sighs.

 

“We don’t interfere with human lives without prompting. You know that, John.” John scowls so ferociously Freddie is surprised Crowley doesn’t spontaneously combust.

 

“Oh, _bullshit_ ,” he snarls at Crowley. “As if I don’t know what you’ve been up to in America. _Fuck_ your rules,” he says furiously. “Fix this. _Now_.” Crowley tuts.

 

“It’s regrettable, as I do enjoy your music, but –“

 

“What’s regrettable is that one of your lackeys went rogue and fucked up our lives because he was _bored_ ,” John hisses. “What’s regrettable is that I didn’t see it earlier and could stop him. What’s regrettable is that _he_ interfered _plenty_ and yet you, as his boss, refuse to take action!” John is yelling by the end of his rant, chest heaving. Freddie’s heart squeezes painfully when he sees the tears gathering in his eyes.

 

“John,” Crowley starts, looking apologetic.

 

“You’ll even owe me a favor!” John explodes, voice frantic. “Just, _please_ –“

 

“That’s a _very_ dangerous thing to say to the King of Hell,” Crowley says, voice silky. John sniffs.

 

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But you like me.” Crowley rubs his temples.

 

“Lucifer help me, but I do,” he grunts. “Very well.” He snaps his fingers. Freddie, who has been watching the interaction with bated breath so far, is disappointed that nothing seems to happen. “It’s done,” he nods at John.

 

“ _Thankyou_ ,” John says in one breath, relieved.

 

“Give your mummy a kiss from me will you?” Crowley says in a salacious tone. John snorts, the sound suspiciously wet.

 

“My mum would skin you alive,” he retorts. Crowley makes a face of rapture.

 

“Oh, she was always a spitfire, your dearest mum –“

 

“Oh, just like _your_ mum – now _that’s_ someone who knows how to make it burn.” Crowley falls silent, looking rather green, while John looks smug.

 

“Good _bye_ , John. Your next Christmas card better be handmade and with glitter.” From one blink to the next he’s disappeared. There’s a beat of silence.

 

“John, what the _fuck_?”

 

“Whoa, there, Freddie,” John says hurrying to his side, hands settling around Freddie’s bicep carefully. “I think you need to sit down.” He gently pries the broken bottle from Freddie’s death grip, tossing it carelessly into a corner.

 

“What I need is a drink,” Freddie retorts shakily, letting John’s strong hands guide him to a sitting position. John inclines his head, taking one of the remaining bottle of scotch and a clearly used glass, scrunching his nose up in disdain. Once the drink is in his hands, Freddie downs it in one go. He tries to hide how bad his hand is shaking when he goes to set it down, but John seems content to just let him be for the moment. “So,” Freddie begins eventually.

 

“So,” John echoes, before he slaps him upside the head. Freddie yelps, but in the next moment there are arms around him, seemingly trying to squeeze the life out of him. After the initial shock, he returns the hug just as fiercely.

 

“I missed you,” he mumbles in the crook of John’s neck. John shudders in his arms, and Freddie hears a sniff, which only causes him to hug John tighter.

 

“Missed you too, you prick,” John mumbles into Freddie’s shoulder. Freddie chuckles, somewhat watery. They stay like that for a long time, and even surrounded by the mess that is Freddie’s house, he feels more wholesome than he has in months, an ache easing he didn’t know he even had.

 

“So,” he speaks up eventually. “ _Uncle_ Crowley.” He mulls over his next words. “Who is a demon.”

 

“King of Hell, actually,” John corrects, before he sighs and leans back to look at Freddie. “I’m sorry you had to witness that – you shouldn’t have had to in the first place.”

 

“I’m not even sure what ‘ _that’_ was,” Freddie says slowly. “I – that was all real, right? I didn’t just have a mental breakdown or too much coke?”

 

“I’m afraid that was very real,” John says, voice careful.

 

“Alright,” Freddie says eventually. John goggles at him.

 

“Alright?” He repeats. “You’re fine with it? Just like that?”

 

“Darling, please,” Freddie snorts. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, is that life only gets weirder as time goes on. This is just –“ he waves a hand around. “Stranger.” John eyes him doubtfully.

 

“So, you’re good?” He asks with a suspicious tone.

 

“Oh, I have about a million questions, dear, probably joined with a mental breakdown,” Freddie replies with an arched eyebrow. “But only one that matters, really,” he continues, more softly. “What was that part about Roger?” John looks away, face scrunched up in that particular way where he’s seconds away from crying. “John?” he tries. “Did Roger sell his soul?”

 

“Yeah,” John chokes out. “He’s such a stupid, irresponsible _fucker_ –“ He paws angrily at his eyes. “But it’s – it’s over now. He’s out of the deal.”

 

“And Paul made the deal?” Freddie knows already, but he needs to hear it. “Paul was the one who made Roger do that?”

 

“Yes,” John spits out viciously, eyes burning with hatred.

 

“Will he suffer?” John looks at him with an odd expression.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good,” Freddie says softly. “I hope for every second that Roger had to bear this alone, he suffers a thousandfold.” John makes a choked off noise at the back of his throat. Freddie reaches out to squeeze John’s hand, before he gets up. John blinks at him. “I need to see Roger,” he says as explanation. It didn’t even begin to cover what Freddie wants. He wants to hug Roger and never let go of him again. He wants to make up for ten years of him suffering alone. He longs to touch soft skin and silky hair again, the same as he wants to see hazel eyes shining at him, elegant fingers rubbing at the small of his back. He wants –

 

“Now,” he adds. John rubs at his eyes again, and Freddie is reminded that John is the youngest out of all of them, but when he looks at Freddie, there’s a glint of steel in them. He might be the youngest, but he has always been the strongest, and he manages to surprise Freddie again and again.

 

“Yeah,” John nods. “We should.”

 

.

 

Freddie only remembered to grab a jacket and his wallet, leaving the cesspool that was his house (not home, never home) behind, having not even spared it a last glance. It didn’t matter anymore. It never had. John and him had boarded the first flight available, but they still had to wait almost two hours, giving Freddie plenty of time to get anxious.

 

Now, he’s curled up in a seat next to John, waiting for the plane to take off. So far, John has refused to let him even go to the loo alone, following him around like a lost puppy. It’s something that usually drives Freddie up the wall, but he can relate. He hadn’t even realized how much of him was really missing until John came to get him. As if he can read his thoughts, John speaks up.

 

“It’s good to have you back, Freddie,” he says. “Even before you – left –“ Freddie knows John really wanted to say _fled_ instead. It would’ve been accurate. “You weren’t yourself anymore.”

 

“I felt like I was trapped in a fog, sluggish and heavy,” Freddie admits, looking into the distance. “It was like I was standing outside myself, looking at a stranger.”

 

“Do you still feel like that?” John asks, voice barely above a whisper. Freddie shrugs.

 

“It’s – I don’t know if it will stop.”

 

“It will,” John says, so surely that Freddie looks up at him again. “We left you alone with – _that_ ,” referring to Paul.

 

“I’m pretty sure I was the one who gave you all a kick in the balls and ran,” Freddie says, with a humorless smirk.

 

“Maybe,” John acquiesces. “But we could have fought harder for you, for _Queen_.” Freddie doesn’t know how to reply to that. John isn’t exactly right, but neither is he wrong, entirely.

 

“Let’s agree that it was a group effort,” he says at last. They’re quiet, simply basking in each other’s presence again after so long. John looks at him with eyes full of regret, and a lingering fear, but also something tender, something a lot like –

 

“Tell me everything,” Freddie asks.

 

John does.

 

.

 

By the time John is done and the announcement for the impending landing comes, Freddie is barely keeping it together enough to not make a scene. John is holding one of his hands, mindlessly caressing over the skin with his thumb while Freddie angrily wipes away tears with the other, but he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. John looks at him with full understanding, some of Freddie’s hurt reflecting in his own.

 

God, that had been – much. From John’s family history (which was absolutely absurd and Freddie had now a healthy dose of fear of Mrs. Deacon) to what had been going on with Roger, with Paul and – _with himself_.

 

“I think – Paul might’ve tried the same with you as Roger, that’s why he isolated you,” John says softly. “He caught Roger in a very unstable moment, and he tried to fabricate one with you.”

 

“I was close, I think,” Freddie admits. John freezes. “I was convinced that there would be no way I could come back without – without a dire premise.”

 

“Fred,” John says, devastated. “We were furious and hurt, but we never wanted you _gone_ ,” he presses out in a rush. “Never. You belong with us.”

 

 

.

 

He’s barely through the doorway of Roger’s house when a tall, lanky figure throws himself at him, touching his face almost reverently. Freddie is stunned, standing frozen as Brian touches him like a blind person feeling someone’s face for the first time, cradling it tenderly.

 

“You’re here, you’re okay,” Brian breathes, before he pulls him into a hug so tight that Freddie’s feet aren’t touching the ground for a few second.

 

“Hey, Bri,” he says faintly, hugging back just as fiercly. “Good to see you.” Brian snorts out a laugh, breath tickling Freddie’s cheek before he pulls back.

 

“Glad you could finally make it, Fred,” he says with a hint of good-natured sarcasm. Another broken piece inside Freddie slots itself back into place, smoothing the jagged edges.

 

“Piss off,” he says syrupy sweet, and Brian smiles at him, sweeter this time. It doesn’t divert Freddie from the dried tear-tracts on Brian’s cheek, or the swollen, red eyes. He looks over Brian’s shoulder at a figure standing in the shadows. Then Brian steps aside, and Freddie has full view of Roger.

 

His stomach sinks at the sight of him.

 

Roger looks ghastly, a far cry from how he’d seen him last, angry and fierce, and most of all, _healthy_. Roger looks at him with wide, sunken eyes, like he can’t quite believe Freddie’s here. He opens his arms in silent invitation, grateful that both Brian and John had fallen silent, letting them have their moment.

 

A second later, Roger flings himself into Freddie’s arms, ugly sobs wracking his ( _too_ ) thin frame.

 

"Oh, Roggie," Freddie breathes out, holding him tighter. There’s a million things running through his brain, but he knows that right now, none of them matter – he’ll tell them Roger soon enough, when he doesn’t quite look like death warmed over. Literally, he thinks with a grimace.

 

Besides – he understands, possibly too well. Roger loves absolutely, without pause or question – for him, it was a logical step, doing what he did. It scares Freddie how selfless, how self- _sacrificing_ he his. "Never again," he tells him, pulling him closer. Roger doesn’t say anything. "We love you so much, and it breaks my heart you don’t seem to love yourself enough." That seems to be the cue for Brian and John, and he feels two sets of arms around them, huddling close

 

"Well make you see," John says quietly from his right. When he looks over, John is looking at him with determination. "You too, Fred."

 

.

 

Eventually they manage to untangle themselves from each other and move to the living room, which is a right mess, though Freddie recognizes the clear signs of Brian’s efforts to clean up a little. After they’ve caught Brian and Roger up about what happened in Munich, Roger looks a mixture between numb and relieved, clearly not sure which emotion (or lack thereof) he should express. Brian looks as grimly satisfied about Paul’s – _disappearance_ – as Freddie feels.

 

Both also look completely dumbfounded and possibly disturbed when John tells them about his family, or rather about an ancestor that managed to get into Crowley’s good graces, owing them a life-debt, and apparently, for future generations too – and the realization how much _more_ the world really is.

 

“Uhm,” Brian says intelligently. “This is – well,” he trails off, looking at Freddie in askance. He only shrugs helplessly.

 

“I don’t know about you lot, but I feel the ‘Big Talk’ about Deaky’s family can wait – I’m absolutely knackered,” he says. John looks at him gratefully, some of the uneasiness seeping out of his frame. He never liked being put on the spot by them like that, Freddie knows. And soon, they’ll have to sit him down, because there is a piece to John they’ve been missing, and they’ll rectify that but it doesn’t matter compared to simply being together again.

 

“Me too,” Roger agrees, speaking up for the first time. “I could really use a nap.” Brian looks like he has to say something about that, but John shoots him a sharp look.

 

“I hope your bed’s big enough for four gangly blokes, Rog,” John says. At this, Roger grins, sincere this time, and Freddie feels warm at the sight of it.

 

.

 

After a power struggle about the sleeping arrangements _(“Roger kicks!” “Well, Brian snores!” “I do not! Besides, Freddie always makes those disgusting farts in his sleep!” “Stop fucking lying you –“)_ they’ve managed to settle, Brian and Roger in the middle, Brian on his back and Roger curled on one side, John huddled close on the other, while Freddie’s plastered himself to Roger’s back. They’ve all settled down, Brian and John already halfway asleep. Freddie can tell Roger is still wide awake despite claiming he was tired earlier, but Freddie can’t exactly blame him; Freddie’s own brain isn’t letting him wind down, one thought in particular keeps coming back.

 

“Is no one going to mention the Thing?” Freddie wonders aloud. Brian groans irritatedly, having almost been asleep.

 

“What thing?” John yawns, but Roger seems to catch his meaning first, eyes widening slightly. Freddie grins cheekily at him and winks.

 

“The Thing where we’re all kind of in love with each other, and have been pining after each other for years.”

 

There’s a long stretch of awkward silence, and Freddie thinks it almost could be considered an art form how well they’re avoiding each other’s eyes despite them sharing space so closely that not even a flea could manage to wiggle between them.

 

“You could have worded that better,” John snorts finally, breaking the silence.

 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Roger says, and despite the humor in his voice, there’s a nervous edge to it.

 

“Bri?” Freddie asks. Brian is studiously looking at the ceiling, not saying a word. But then he sighs, and puts his chin snug against Roger’s neck, looking at Freddie.

 

“I disagree,” Brian says, and they tense all up. Freddie has a split second of pure panic where he thinks he’s misread almost fifteen years of long looks and dry-humping on stage, but then Brian grins widely, showing off his canines. “Considering it’s Fred, that was almost poetic. He could’ve said something like ‘– _and we have wanted to shag each other’s brains out’_ instead.”

 

John kicks him.

 

“My heart dropped down to my knees, you prick,” he snaps at Brian, who starts to chuckle. Roger pinches his nipple in retaliation, which makes him shriek and edge away, long limbs flailing and foot kicking John in the process, who reaches for one of the throw pillows lying on the floor.

 

“I am _way_ to fucking tired for a pillow-fight, _girls_ ,” Freddie says forcefully. They settle down again, John draping himself again against Brian’s side, which is free from octopus-Roger, and Freddie cuddling closer to Roger’s back. They share a moment of comfortable silence.

 

“ _This_ isn’t going to be easy,” Roger begins hesitatingly. Brian sighs into Roger’s hair, and Freddie can see John squint in thought from behind Brian. It’s a fair argument – the three of them have wives, children, families. It’s what had sent Freddie running for the hills the first time around.

 

“I don’t care,” Brian says finally. Freddie hums in agreement, and after a moment, John nods.

 

“We’ve wasted enough time,” he agrees. Roger bites his lip.

 

“I know, but –“

 

“Almost losing someone you love really puts things in perspective,” Brian says pointedly. Freddie knows Brian isn’t trying to be cruel, and although he likely means Roger, it still stings him.

 

“He means you, too, Fred,” Roger says softly. Freddie just burrows closer, hiding his face in Roger’s hair.

 

“We’ll deal with one thing at a time,” John says softly.

 

“Alright,” Roger says slowly. “But it’s _really_ not going to be easy.” Freddie hates how timid he sounds – they will need a long time to get back where they should be.

 

“We have time,” Freddie realizes suddenly. “We don’t have a deadline,” he winces at the wording. “I mean –” he says quietly, before trailing off.

 

“No, you’re right; we have all the time in the world,” Roger sighs.

 

“And I think I speak for all of us when I say that we want – this,” John says slowly. No one says a word, but they don’t have to – they know.

 

“We’ll take it day by day,” Brian says. Freddie smiles through Roger’s hair at him, feeling as if his heart might burst.

 

“Day by day,” Roger echoes. He still sounds quiet, but the doubt isn’t quite as present in his voice anymore. Freddie squeezes him tight around the waist for a moment, and can feel Brian do the same with the arm trapped between Roger’s back and Freddie’s torso.

 

“Until I grow tired of you lot,” Freddie says thoughtlessly to lighten the mood, and wishes he could take it back a second later – he only just got _back_. Brian just snorts.

 

“We’d hunt you down to the ends of the earth,” Roger says into Brian’s collarbone, the hand over Freddie’s squeezing. It’s a promise as much as a warning.

 

“And beyond,” John adds. They chuckle nervously at the seriousness of his tone.

 

“Day by day and beyond,” Brian says.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Freddie grins.

 

He’s _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, and we're at the end - how did you like the surprise guest? Rest assured, Paul won't be getting out of his prison in hell, EVER.
> 
>  
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought - Comments are love ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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